Monday, July 19, 2010

I find it necessary to post a full confessional on what just took place at my house. As I type, my kind husband is walking a couple miles to Target with a bag full of toys to return, fleeing the devil who wears stretchy pants and flip flops.

Tough to know where to start: I got accepted into a shared risk IVF program, where you pay a boatload up front but in return get up to three live rounds and three frozen rounds to make a baby. If you aren't successful you get a little bit of money back. I was thrilled to have conned someone into letting me into such a program because the U turned me down for theirs already, and they were my last treating doctor; (translation: The U told me I sucked and wouldn't place their bets on me, and I believe them.)New doctor decides I need to go on the Lupron Depot shot to "quiet" my endometriosis as much as possible before IVF, so I need to go in for monthly shots three months prior to my IVF. I am all hung up on the terrible horrible side affect that dumb shot can have, so finding out it isn't covered by my insurance and costs $700 a shot is depressing beyond belief. I put the ball back in the clinic's court and tell them I don't want the shot, and they magically procure me two free shots. Yay. Suddenly I have less hang-ups.In the meantime, H is laid off from his job. His job at OUR workplace. We work together. My best friend there is also laid off. I now find myself in work hell. Really. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I can't find words to describe these last few weeks, I just wish they could be wiped from my memory someday. As most people (and begrudgingly, even I) would point out, at least I still have a job, and a decent income at that, and a means to pay our mortgage and feed our faces and stuff. Yes. I am grateful, I am in relatively little pain in comparison to the thousands of others in this same situation, as we have lost one income, but still have one remaining. Unfortunately, my baby ambitions do require two incomes. And a third or fourth income would really take the edge off.As some demonstration of faith, or denial of reality, I went ahead and got my first Lupron shot today - crossing fingers and toes that H will have a job in three months. Really, I feel like it was this huge demonstration of positivity, and hope that someone up there knows what it takes for me to make such leaps.So now to the current, ugly part.We go to Target and peruse the dollar section. I am looking for a beach ball. H finds some nostalgic childhood crap toys. I know he loves things like this. He has told me many times how happy things like this make him. He throws five into the cart and I start having a ton of anxiety and panic about how I hate tiny, crappy plastic things, how I moved a chest of drawers out of my play room recently and had to dumb a whole other load of crap toys I already own onto the floor, how I know the new crap toys have no place to go. How those toys are mostly frequented by my 2 year old nephew and yet H has chosen the pack of 100 tiny choking hazard soldiers that I will step on and find down my toilet, and find pooped out by the in-laws dog...!!!... My heart was racing in the store, but at that point I was aware that I was being looney, so I decided to not say anything and simply smile at the crap. Then we got home and (I think) in the meanest possible voice I asked him to take his crappy junky toys immediately out of the kitchen, out of my face because I thing they are the dumbest thing on the planet and they are a ridiculous wasteful purchase based not on reality, but the nostalga that he carries only because he only had those crappy poor person toys, and no kid in this day and age will ever use those toys because they have a million cooler things now, and he is welcome to keep them and prove me wrong, please, but until the nephew comes over don't let me see them because I have anxiety about them, and he isn't living in reality buying crap when we are eating up our precious savings every month. Then he had a fit trying to find the receipt to take them back - and I told him he was a pussy for now needing to take them back and if he likes stupid toys he needs to own it, and grow a pair, even if I don't like them (the toys that is). Because I am allowed to not like your things, and it doesn't mean you have to take them back and waste our gas taking back lame toys. Many more ridiculous things were said - by me - then H came down and declared that he is hoping this is just a hormone surge brought on by my shot. The shot? Oh boy. I hadn't even thought of it. But was this a crazy hormone surge? YES. Is it due to the shot that I just got this morning? Is that even scientifically possible? I am not sure, so I will own this ugly event. But I will say I haven't felt that much anxiety, panic, indignation, irritation, and rage all in such a short period of time ever before. And now all I feel thinking of a grown man having to take his $5 toys back to Target is deep sadness and regret. I am going to say that is because somewhere I am still human. I am not chalking that one up to the shot.

About Me

I am a woman who, despite best intentions, modern medicine, bad advice, and a whole lotta good old fashioned trying, cannot reproduce. I am the genetic mule. These are the stories of my quest for a baby, my denial that I want a baby, and every other thing in between. I have found the best ways to cope with this particular brand of tough stuff is by sharing the sadness and looking for the humor in infertility with fellow mules. Sarcasm, dark humor, occasional bitching, and of course frequent crying all seem to help me. One thing that I have particular trouble with is HOPE. I'll work on it.
But here is something sweet for those of you tough enough to handle some of the H word. I did a google search of "genetic mule" just before I published my first post to make sure no clever person had stolen my name before I got to it, and the only thing that came up was this:
http://www.eyeondna.com/2007/07/31/genetic-impossibility-female-mule-gives-birth-to-foal/
Read it and weep. I did. I guess there is hope even for a mule like me.